PLANS FOR ESCAPE.
Marjorie looked at her lover. He met her gaze fairly. But she saw fear
in his eyes--a thing she had never seen there before.
She knew he had never known the meaning of fear until now. Then she
looked at her brother. Crossing to his side she told him to stand up.
"Look at me, Rupert. Tell me whether you're innocent or guilty--one
moment, before you speak. I know, but I want to hear the truth from your
lips."
"It can make no difference." Jim Crichton spoke. "He has been found
guilty. He has escaped from prison. He must go back to prison."
Brother and sister were standing close together, facing one another
fearlessly now. To Jim listening and watching it seemed a long time
before Rupert spoke.
"I am innocent," he said at last.
Marjorie put her arms around him, holding him closely and tightly. "I
knew it."
Tears filled her eyes, but she forced them back. "Who was the guilty
person? Do you know that?"
"Yes. I know that."
"Who was it?" Her voice rose triumphantly.
Again there was a long silence. Jim turned his back. He was fighting
against the fear which possessed him. He was afraid of himself.
Emotions of which he had never before been conscious filled his
heart--war against ideals, principles and faiths to which he had been
brought up.
"I shall never say who was guilty."
Marjorie gave vent to a little cry: a cry of joy. She took her brother's
hands, both of them, and covered them with kisses. Roughly he snatched
them away and stood back.
"I've given you my message--though it has come too late. I don't know
what Despard has done for you, but don't trust him, Marjorie. Warn
father.... When I said just now that I had had no intention of escaping
it was true. But now I have escaped I don't mean to go back. If you
won't help me, if the man who loves you does his duty and gives me up,
then I shall fight for it."
He backed across the room as he spoke, and gazed around as if seeking
for some weapon.
Marjorie stepped towards her lover and held out her arms. "Jim!"
He shook his head, and crossing the room unlocked the door.
"Jim! What are you going to do?"
"I must do my duty."
She followed him. "Your duty to the State? But what of me. Yes, I am
pleading for myself now. For the love we bear one another."
The door-handle rattled in his hand. He stood with his back towards
her. "Marjorie, don't tempt me."
"I'm not tempting you," she replied quietly. "I'm asking you calmly and
coldly to save my brother. I know what I'm asking. I know that if you
hide him and if he's discovered you will be ruined. I realise the awful
responsibility I'm putting on you. I'm doing a terrible thing, but I'm
doing it with my eyes open, conscious of the love I bear you.... Still,
I ask it. Save him."
Beads of perspiration stood on Rupert's forehead. He was trembling from
head to foot as if with an ague. The muscles of his face worked
convulsively.
"Just let me go then. I'll take my chance outside. They'll never know
I was here, I'll swear to that. A few hours' more freedom--that's all I
want. I might get back home and see my father for a moment.... They
won't take me alive. I can't go back to that granite hell at
Princetown. Death's easier. I'm not afraid--for I can die fighting ...
but to be taken back like a dog on a chain, to be put into a hole where
there is neither night nor day, only silence and four narrow walls, and
a cup of water and a piece of bread----"
Jim held up his hand. "Silence, Dale. Don't say any more. This rests
between Marjorie and me. There is one thing, however, you should
know--I am going to marry your sister."
Rupert made a movement forward, then stopped. "I told you just now that
I was a coward," he cried fiercely, his voice rising. "I am no longer a
man. Prison has done its work quickly.... All I want now is freedom. I
don't care how I get it. I was neither a thief nor a liar nor a coward
when I was convicted nine months ago, but I am now, and I'll lie, cheat,
kill--for freedom. I'm going to get out of this house alive even if
they shoot me like a dog outside your garden gate. So now you know."
"Be silent," Jim said again. He turned round and looked at Marjorie.
"You have heard. What do you say?"
"Save him. Perhaps I am asking you the greatest thing in the world. If
my love is worth the sacrifice--make it."
He took her hands in his then. They were as cold as ice. She scarcely
looked beautiful. The agony she was undergoing had distorted her
features.
"Wait here. I shall not be long."
He left the room, closing the door behind him. Marjorie stood with her
back to it, supporting herself against it. Rupert stared round the
room, crossed to the conservatory door and closed it. He pulled the
curtain at the window closer. He picked up the decanter of whisky as if
to help himself again, but changed his mind and put it down. Twice he
tried to speak, but no words issued from his lips.
"Sit down, dear," Marjorie said, striving to regain her normal voice.
"You must be very tired."
He nodded his head but remained standing. Jim was absent a long time.
Now and then sounds they would not have heard under ordinary
circumstances startled the brother and sister waiting in the
drawing-room--waiting far apart. Once they had been all in all to one
another; now a third person stood between them, and in his hands lay
Rupert's life.
At last Rupert spoke. "I can't stand this much longer. Marjorie, open
the door and let me go. I'm asking too much. Let me go and take my
chance."
She shook her head. "Wait."
At last Jim returned. He left the door open and beckoned to Rupert.
"Follow me."
The convict glanced at him. There was no need to question. He crossed
the room on tip-toe, holding his breath. His expression was that of a
hunted animal, his movements the same.
The door closed and Marjorie was alone. An hour passed, but now she was
unconscious of time. She sat on the Chesterfield staring into space.
She was only conscious of Jim's presence when she felt his arms around
her.
"Father may return any moment," he said. She heard a sob of fear in his
voice, it had changed. She did not recognise it as the voice of her
lover. "I'm afraid you must go. Before you go I must tell you what I've
done and what I hope to do. Listen, dear--and remember."
"I am listening, Jim."
"You know my workroom at the back of the house, just underneath my
bedroom? It was built out for me just before I joined the R.F.C.
Underneath it is a cellar where I keep a few things stored--plant, bits
of machinery, petrol, and so forth. Some of the plant I want for my
experiments is there and a small furnace. The entrance to my workroom
is always locked and the way to the cellar bolted and padlocked, too.
I've hidden him there, in the cellar. Binks, my bull terrier, always
sleeps in the workroom. He knows Rupert, remembered him and made
friends at once. He would give warning if anyone approached.... I've
given Rupert a change of clothes and food--enough of the latter to last
him twenty-four hours in case of need. I spend half the day in my
workroom always, so--he won't feel lonely. A fortnight or three weeks
at least must pass before we can dream of escape. He can change his
appearance in that time, too."
He waited a moment. Marjorie said nothing, but he felt her body
tremble. He held her tighter.
"I've thought of a way. It seems the only way, but, at the same time,
it means the greatest risk. I'll tell you now in case there's not
another opportunity. We may want your help. In about three weeks' time
I'm doing a special flight--a long distance flight from Netheravon to
Plymouth, carrying a passenger. It isn't long enough to attract public
attention. As an experiment I am using a new engine and trying a little
invention of my own which the Government may take up. A certain amount
of secrecy will, therefore, be observed. I shall be free to make
whatever arrangements I like, take whatever course I choose, and so
forth. My idea, hazy at present, is that Rupert shall be my passenger.
If I can pick him up and land him at Plymouth he'll stand a chance, a
fairly good one, perhaps. Luckily, he knows every inch of Dartmoor, so
do I. A monoplane doesn't attract as much attention as it used to, and
if the public doesn't know anything about the flight or the direction
I'm taking, I may manage to pass over the wildest part of Dartmoor,
Cranmere Pool, for example, come down there unnoticed, and pick up
Rupert.... Don't say anything, dear, and now go. If you're asked, don't
hesitate to say where you've spent this evening. Hide nothing--except
the fact that you've seen your brother. Any distress you may show would
be perfectly natural. Blackthorn Farm is sure to be watched day and
night. You and your father will be watched and followed, probably, but
that needn't prevent your coming up here if you want to see me. I won't
announce our engagement until Rupert is safe, in case it arouses
suspicion." He led her to the door. "Good-night, dear. God bless
you."
"God bless you," she stammered. "It is mean to ask now, but tell me one
thing more before I go. You don't hate me? I've asked the impossible,
and you have done it--you won't hate me when you realise what you've
done?"
He forced her eyes to meet his and he smiled bravely. "I realised what
I was doing before I did it, dear. It's a big thing. It's like war.
That's all now. I love you better than----"
The sentence was unfinished. He kissed her lips, and opening the door
led her through the hall out into the garden. There he wished her
good-night again, loudly, in a cheery tone of voice, and watched her
until she was out of sight.
The fog had quite disappeared. The million eyes of the night shone from
a cloudless sky. An owl hooted from a wood on the right. Down in the
valley the East Dart sang its way to the sea.
Jim Crichton looked up at the sky. And presently he smiled. It was
good to be a soldier and to fight. It was better to be a man, and to
love.